


Quartermasters Are Stubborn Individuals

by doctormissy



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, I mean it, Living Together, M/M, Sickfic, Tickling, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 19:25:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7451149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctormissy/pseuds/doctormissy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q doesn't feel very good. He has probably caught the flu. He doesn't want to stay at home, of course not, so James has to make him. He cooks soup. Eve is concerned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quartermasters Are Stubborn Individuals

**Author's Note:**

> This started as smut, but then I came to the tickling part and I just couldn't get back to my original intentions, no. I felt like it would ruin it, that this isn't the fic it would make better. Instead, I wrote it insanely fluffy and it ended up as a sickfic, which is a bit cliché, I knoooow, BUT I always enjoy reading - and writing - those. Enjoy ;)

Q sat on a large, brown and comfortable sofa, impatiently waiting for 007 to return home. Bond had to debrief on another ballsed-up off-record mission (but he must admit it was only the second in a whole year, which was more or less a success) with which Q of course helped him by analysing all data James had sent him, cracking many many codes, leading him through the city and its underground premises and last but not least covering for him. He told M he had had nothing to do with it to save his arse from another week of suspension, although he didn’t have a good feeling of it. He never liked it when he had to lie, especially when it concerned 007 in any regard. 

He checked his designer watch for at least the fifth time in two minutes. He was gone for hours. Two hours and thirty-seven minutes, to be precise. He was actually worried about James. When it came to M and hauling somebody over the coals, 007 in particular, it was never easy. 

William, the tabby one of their two cats jumped on the sofa next to Q, nestled down on his lap and started to purr silently. William didn’t know what was going on or care about his other master really; he was just a cat after all. Q stroked the feline on his back repeatedly, more likely to calm himself and not William. 

He checked the watch again. He found himself tapping his fingers absently on the sofa and stopped. _Stop it, Q. Nothing’s going on, he will return. He probably just stopped in a take-away or something,_ he thought, _that’s just bloody well who James is. Always getting in trouble._

“Where the bloody hell is he, eh? But of course you are the last one to know,” he said to the cat, who looked at Q as if he understood him. Although they did not, Q talked to his cats rather frequently, particularly when he was alone at home. He spent most of his time in Q-Branch, developing and making brand new pieces of technology necessary for Double-Oh agents on their missions, repairing the damaged ones and protecting Six’s servers and firewalls. 

007 always was an expert on destroying, misusing and losing his cars, guns and basically any other _very expensive_ pieces of equipment Q trusted him with giving.

 

A sound of ensuing code typing was to be heard from the hallway at last. Q sighed in relief, forced William to leap down from his lap and got up, almost running to the hallway to greet the very late Double-Oh agent. Q looked worried and displeased with his partner at the same time. He couldn’t hold himself any longer and neither could he be decent with him. “Where the hell have you been?” he said, raising his voice enough to scare Kate – the fluffier and bigger cat who followed her master to the hallway. “What did M tell you?”

“Off-duty, again. For the second time this year, can you believe it? I covered you, by the way,” 007 answered nonchalantly and smiled at Q at the mention of him. He took off his black jacket and hung it on a hook by the door. Q has not decided yet whether he wanted to slap or kiss the agent right on the spot. 

No matter what, he always had a soft spot for this man. He did not even know why. There just was something attracting Q to James since the first time they had met at the National Gallery few years ago.

James has decided for him. He stepped closer to Q, cupped his tired and worried face in his hands and kissed him softly. “But do you know what does it mean for us, Andrew?” He used his name. He hardly ever used his real name, yet Q loved it when he did it. It was somewhat different, hearing it from James.

Q gave 007 a raised eyebrow, on which James replied by an explanation, “More time for ourselves.” 

“You often tend to forget I have to go to work as well as you, James. I actually work harder than you and every day. The Quartermaster can’t just take a day off,” Q raised an objection, putting his arms round 007’s waist. He seemed annoyed; or was he awfully tired? He only hoped he did not catch flu too. There was something of an epidemic vexing half of London and he noted few of his minions and a couple of people at M-Branch and HR did not come to work due to the illness. 

“Can’t he?” James put on a seductive voice, having something vicious on mind. Q could tell when the Double-Oh got an idea and this was one of those moments. 

“No, James. If I’d leave Q-Branch alone for even just couple of hours—” in that moment, Kate nudged Q in his left calf, which made the young man stagger and press his body closer to James’. It was an excellent opportunity to steal another kiss from him. Q chuckled.

“I think the lady is trying to tell us something,” James purred against Q’s lips softly before he let go of him to get rid of his shoes and shoulder holster and sit on the sofa heavily after an exacting day. It might seem he casted the idea off, but contrary was the truth. 

He waited for his partner to come by and sit next to him. Q took a seat closely to James and snuggled to him, putting his head on his shoulder. He could smell James’ cologne and cigarettes. So he was smoking again.

James put an arm round Q’s back, rubbing various patterns on his left arm lazily. They sat like that, in silence, until Bond started to leave a trail of short, yet possessive kisses along his beautiful ruffled hair, temple and cheek. Eventually, he moved to his neck and collarbone, exposing the pale skin on Q’s shoulder. Their position on the sofa reversed – Q was lying on the seat and James above him. It was more than pleasant. James made shivers go down Q’s spine and a silent moan escape his mouth. 

James made an attempt to unbutton the dark blue cardigan Q wore (what was the thing with cardigans anyway?) – he was eager to deprive him of it at once. If he is going to be on his own in there for two weeks, regardless the late nights and mornings, he needed Q to make it up to him after all. However, Q has stopped him, putting his hand away, saying, “Not today, James, I’m exhausted to my bones. Besides, I am sure you could use some sleep too.” He practically yawned, but refrained from so. 

James gave him a disappointed however pleading gaze and leant to give him more kisses on the corner of his mouth. He was going to make Q change his mind yet. He shifted so he was on top of Q completely, disabling him to escape. His lips never leaving Q’s he unbuttoned the cardigan and half-took it off the younger man, disregarding Q’s protests. 

“James… stop… I mean it… 007, as your Quartermaster I command you to—” Q managed to utter between kisses, still unable to extricate from James’ tight grip on him. Nevertheless, he did not stop kissing James back. He lost in him every bloody time and somehow felt relaxed, content and loved. As if the blond man had a secret ability of making him drunk with love and pleasure each time their lips crashed together, let alone when he felt him inside him as they made love. The sex was simply wonderful.

James moved to Q’s neck and started sucking at it. He gave him few love bites and Q only hoped he wasn’t going to need to wear a turtleneck the next day. 

“But you’re also my partner here at home and that gives you no right to give me orders what to do, Andrew. Unless you want me to tickle you to death,” James whispered into his ear and moved his hands on Q’s abdomen and an incredibly ticklish spot round his navel. 

Q inevitably broke into giggles that made James return the smile and as Q saw James’ sweet smile he loved so much, he laughed even more. James held Q by his waist with one hand, the other not ceasing to tickle his belly. He was breathless. Suddenly, the tiredness was gone at least a little. 

“Stop it, James… that’s enough! My stomach… hurts… from laughter,” the Quartermaster sputtered with difficulties. The Double-Oh was totally devoured by loud, wholehearted laughter as well by then, collapsing onto his partner. 

Both men were exhausted, fallen into soundless laugh. It was rather late, so Q hoped it did not rouse the neighbours. However, it did make both cats curious. They quietly sneaked into the room, gazing at the pair on the sofa with their large, penetrating eyes.

It took James and Andrew minutes to compose themselves enough to think rationally. Nonetheless, they both remained lying on the sofa on a pile for some time yet, Bond moving more or less to lie next to Q to disburden him; he was no light feather after all. Apparently, the tickling escapade was enough for James to decide to leave the tired Quartermaster alone for that day. To see him happy like that was not a usual sight and it was satisfactory enough. 

It worked the other way round as well. Q did not even remember when he had the opportunity to see James so sincerely overt and blissful, not wearing his sharp, solemn mask of a deadly spy. That was a rare sight indeed. In fact, Q has never noticed him looking like that elsewhere and other time but when they were together, be it at home, in a grocery shop or a gym. In front of Q (when it was just the two of them) he somehow relaxed and threw off the burden of a Double-Oh with licence to kill. 

Q hated that they had to conceal their relationship in front of MI6 staff, even their friends, when it was almost a year since they realised there actually was something going on between the two of them and began dating. If they didn’t—it would be so easier and Q would get to see happy James more often, he was sure of that. And they would certainly send other operatives more on missions requiring sleeping with someone to gain information if they knew Bond had a partner with whom he actually shared a flat.

Q could feel James’ warm breath against the skin on his neck and breathed his scent. The blond had his right hand round Q, preventing him from falling off the narrow sofa, and both legs entwined with his partner’s. Q stroked James’ back absentmindedly and went down on his bottom from time to time. 

All the tickling made him hot, thus he must have taken off the cardigan, for which James made so many efforts before. He wore only a white t-shirt with dark blue and dark red stripes and trousers of the same red colour. James thought he should wear t-shirts sans the ugly cardigans more, but Q objected that he would be cold down in Q-Branch now in November. 

The silence, relative darkness and comfort significantly added in the fatigue and both the agent and the Quartermaster drifted off. They would have stayed like that on the sofa till the morning, hadn’t Q sneezed all of a sudden, twice in a row.

James awoke with a jerk, always wary. “It’s nothing, James. I sneezed, that is all,” he assured Bond with a feeble voice and looked round the living room. Bond relaxed again and closed his eyes. Q took note of William sleeping right under them, coiled. He realised he still had the watch and spectacles – rather dirty – on, and checked the time when he already held the watch in front of his face. “Anyway, it’s 2:06 am. We should change and move to bed unless what we yearn for are achy bodies and rumpled clothes.”

“But ‘m comfy here,” replied James drowsily, clinging to Q more. He was impossible sometimes. 

Q sighed, pressed a kiss on James’ lips, patted his buttocks and slithered from under his body. He yawned widely as he got up and stretched his hands. Only then he noticed the aggravating feeling in his throat, as if something scratched him there with its claws. He changed the direction of his route to the bedroom for the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea and take pills, because he really couldn’t afford to be sick now, not when a half of Six was down already. 

James seemed to have woken up fully by then, asking Q whether everything is alright. Somehow, he knew it was not.

“Yes, of course it is, why wouldn’t it be? I am just thirsty, there is no need to worry, James,” he called, and thankfully, his voice still sounded normal. He hoped it was nothing and he could go to work that day, since he has an awful lot of updates and paperwork to do. He went home early yesterday only to wait for James; no one must see them go from Six together. 

Q put the kettle on, choosing herb tea over his usual earl grey, and shuffled to the other side of the kitchen to take out the ‘pills box’, as he called an old cookie jar in which he kept medications. He hardly ever took anything but sleeping tablets and nor he went to the doctor’s. He hated them, he hated hospitals and being sick and he also hated taking pills. They were unwholesome, mostly. 

He extracted the right packing of sore-throat pastilles and took one. It tasted of chemical orange taste. The water was boiled in short time and he poured it into his second favourite mug after the scrabble one – one with mathematical equations on it. 

In the meantime, James got up and followed Q in the kitchen to see what he was doing. He knew Q was _not_ alright, as he claimed to be. “Something’s wrong, dear, I can see it.” He approached and hugged his partner from behind, resting his chin on his right shoulder.

James rarely addressed Q by his real name, but what he did even less often was use pet names. It must have been serious.

“I swear I am bloody fine, James!” he shouted and then added an apology. Nonetheless, he did not admit he caught something at work, by which he endangered James whose only luck was the mandatory leave as well. He took his mug, turned the light off and slowly walked to the bedroom, where he put the tea and his glasses on a nightstand and went to take a hot shower. Perhaps that was going to make him better. 

Q emerged from the bathroom in ten minutes, wearing black pyjama bottoms and his favourite dark blue t-shirt with a design of the TARDIS flying through the universe. His hair was still soaked with water and he was drying it with a towel furiously. He saw James already lying under the cover on his side of the bed (right, always right) also wearing pyjamas. He probably took a shower in the hotel he was staying at on his mission, Q assumed. One of the lamps closer to James was on, casting shadows on the walls round it. 

Q took a sip of the tea, put the towel on a radiator next to the door and crawled into the bed to James. He felt the pastille’s effects already, being glad for which. James turned his head to look at him, smiling gently. Q looked at his alarm clock and found out he only had less than four hours of sleep before he gets up and goes to work again. 

He rolled on his side to look James in the face before he gave him a goodnight kiss and James switched off the light. The bedroom immersed in darkness and the only thing they could see at that moment was a thin streak of light from the streetlights shining through a gap between the curtains and the window.

 

When James awoke in the morning by the irritating beeping of Q’s alarm clock, on which his partner wasn’t responding, he noticed that the man he had an arm around was hot—no, not hot, burning with fever—and he himself had one of his nostrils blocked. He caught a bloody cold and Q was in a worse state.

He just knew Q lied earlier and that he was not fine, but the Quartermaster was terribly obstinate when it came to basically anything.

The sound started to be really annoying, but Q wasn’t waking up. James rolled his eyes at it with a thought: _oh for god’s sake, if I don’t do it no one will,_ carefully removed his hand from Q’s body and his legs from under the cover to stand up and turn the blasted thing off. To do so, he needed to go round the whole bed and before he got to Q’s side, the other man was awake. 

Q sleepily reached for the clock, having his eyes still closed, and successfully enabled the snooze mode, if nothing. James sat on the bed next to him and put his palm on Q’s forehead to ascertain whether he truly had a fever, which proved to be accurate. Q of course wanted to get up. James stopped him by holding him in the bed by his shoulders, “No, you’re not going anywhere today, especially to work, Andrew. You need to rest.”

The young man protested, saying that he has to go to Six, as if there weren’t R who could take charge for some time and do everything for him. “No, Q, you absolutely aren’t getting up unless it’s for the toilet or kitchen, do you understand?” James insisted. “Luckily for you, I am off duty and staying here with you for all day. Now I need to go to the grocery to buy ingredients for chicken soup, that’ll help.”

“No, I said I’m fine, James, don’t worry about me. Let me go.” Q’s voice was hoarse and weak. When he tried to sit, he felt a sharp pain inside his head. He also had a headache to top it all. Just brilliant. 

“You either stay here on your own accord or I am forced to lock you up. Your only task for today is to call M at once and tell him you are incapable of coming to work for the entire week,” said James matter-of-factly, a furrow appearing on his brow as he put on a solemn face of 007. 

“No, I’m not calling M,” Q replied, but at least he did not say anything about going outside. 

“Call Moneypenny then. I can’t announce you’re sick for you, because they’d know I am here with you that way,” Bond explained and stood up. He changed the subject, “Do you want anything special, since I’m doing the shopping? I know how much you love jelly babies.”

“Okay, bring me two packs, and some fruit. It has vitamins. Come back soon.”

James nodded, pressed a kiss on Q’s sweaty forehead and smiled at him one more time, sniffing. He must not forget to buy some handkerchiefs as well.

 

When he returned from his little trip to the nearest supermarket, which was a Tesco Metro, of course he did not find Q in the bed, but on the sofa in the living room, sitting at his laptop. Well, at least he could be glad he did not go out despite James’ warnings. He was definitely glad when he saw he had a woollen, checked blanket draped round his shoulders. 

“How are you feeling?” was the first thing that crossed James’ mind. 

“Honestly, James? Like shit,” Q answered in a nasal voice and it was the first frank thing he said on the matter. “My entire body hurts; I am bloody cold and can’t even speak properly. Moreover, it hurts when I talk.”

“Then don’t. But tell me one thing, dear, why the fuck are you sitting here at the computer typing in code or whatever you’re doing instead of lying in the bed as I told you?” James seemed to be cross with Q. He put the bags on the coffee table, mercilessly closed the laptop and took his partner by his shoulders, making him get up.

“But they’re going to be—” he wanted to object. He didn’t even get to finish the thought, when he felt the agent’s grip round him tighten and actually force him to go to bed and not in a sexual way. 

“They can make it without for a couple of days, Quartermaster. Did you call Moneypenny?”

“Yes, but—”

“No buts. I am going to make that soup now. Turn the TV on if you want.”

“But I’m not hungry.”

“You ought to eat, Andrew,” there was deep concern in James’s voice. “It will make your stomach better.”

“What if I vomit? Cos I feel like it, James. I don’ wanna eat.” Today was the first time James heard Q lose his perpetual public school accent and shorten his expression on minimum. He did not remember when he had sore throat for the last time, but he still knew how much he hated that he couldn’t either swallow or talk very well, so he understood it. Q was in such unenviable situation right now and he hated seeing his partner like that, more or less powerless and reliant on his help. He was a Double-Oh, not a very good carer. Yet, he had to take care of him, because there was no one else. It was his obligation; a mission, you could say. 

 

Mission: chicken soup. Status: not going very well. Probably edible. 

He was lucky Q lost his taste and smell, because he might have or might have not put too much salt into it. Andrew could at least appreciate the effort, right? Anyway, it was ready and James poured it in two white-and-orange striped bowls he found in the cupboards. There still was about a half of the pot left for later. 

He took two spoons, put them into the seething soup smelling nicely of chicken and spices and headed toward the bedroom, opening the door with his foot so he didn’t have to put the bowls down. He put one on Q’s nightstand and took one with him. He was quite hungry as well and this was breakfast, basically. 

Q of course refused to eat anything, thus James had to make him. In other words, he fed him like a big grouchy baby. Q brought himself to swallow sixteen spoonfuls before he decided that that really was enough and refused to open his mouth any further. James had no other option than to accept it and take his own bowl, putting Q’s aside.

James sat in the middle of the bed leant against the headboard, eating the soup, and next to him sat Q wrapped in the blanket, cuddled as close to James as he could to make himself warmer, although he had 39 °C fever. They were watching rerun of a rerun of _Poirot_. Correction – James was watching _Poirot_ , Q did not see a thing due to lack of glasses on his nose. His head ached less when he did not have to look at the world round him perfectly and saw no more than hazy objects with unrecognisable outlines.

James made peace with not seeing a doctor long ago. He could perhaps force Q to stay in bed, but he wouldn’t get him to a doctor’s surgery, not even Medical at MI6, in a million years.

 

They had no idea that when Eve Moneypenny answered Q’s call she still was at home and decided to visit Q to make sure her friend was relatively alright. She as the only one knew where he lived and also the combination to open his door. Which she was typing in the device right now.

She had no idea he was not alone and utterly hopeless.

She of course entered without knocking, heading towards the bedroom immediately. She thought the smell of chicken soup and unusual amount of food on the countertop suspicious but did not pay attention to it; she simply assumed it was one of Q’s neighbours who had mercy on him and came in to cook. She knew there was that nice old lady just across the hallway.

Neither James nor Q heard Eve enter the flat, not even when she was at the bedroom door. Only then, when she stood at it and knocked, asking silently, “Q? Are you there?” James winced. What was he supposed to do?  
But then he came to a conclusion they would eventually find out about their relationship and did not even move. Q did not answer, because he drifted off and could not hear a thing.

Moneypenny did not wait for answer and opened the door. The second her gaze fell on the bed she froze. She would never expect 007 in ordinary light green t-shirt sitting in that bed snuggled to the Quartermaster (still wearing the TARDIS one – Eve was a Doctor Who fan with him and they always discussed episodes for hours, mainly the wrong science, and theorised how to build all the futuristic equipment they had; Q tried to build a sonic screwdriver more than once, to be honest), eating the soup and casually watching telly as if it were the most normal thing. He only smiled at her, saying, “Hello, Eve. You want some soup?”

She did not know what to say. She was literally shocked by the sight in front of her – _Bond_ and _Q_? She found her words, but not quite, “Um, James, what—why—you two—” Eve collected herself at last, approaching the bed, “That’s excellent news, you know? But if you do anything to him, break his heart—”

“It’s been almost a year, Moneypenny. I assure you I am not just using him or whatever you were about to say.”

“Cos you love him,” Ms Moneypenny derived immediately. She chuckled. She was happy for both of them, truly.

“Yes, I do,” he admitted. He never said those words to Q because he was sure there was no need to say them. He knew. “But I’d advise you stay out of this place unless you want to lie on this bed here with us. Q is taken excellent care of, do not worry.”

She, however, walked to James’ side of the bed and tasted the salty soup James was surprisingly capable of eating with no problems. She grinned and said, sarcastic, “Yeah, I can see that. What if I made something more… edible?”

“Don’t you have a job to attend to?” James replied, raising his eyebrow. Q shifted against James’ body, almost causing him to spill the soup on the sheets. “Speaking of, this stays between us. Not a single soul at Six must know or I will shoot you as you did to me.”

“You won’t ever stop with that, will you, James? I said I was sorry, M’s orders,” she protested, but jokingly. “Scout’s honour I won’t tell, but can I take a picture? You know, for further uses. Besides, you look disgustingly cute and you can’t gloss that over.” Eve already held her mobile in her hand, searching for the camera app. James rolled his eyes, but said nothing. He rather didn’t wake Q up for he was sure the younger man would definitely be against taking any compromising photos. 

“Say cheese,” she said and took not one, but five photos for sure. They will all laugh at them in few years (in a wedding album at best), thinking back to good old times. “And as for work, M needs me there no sooner than 10:00, so you’re stuck with me for an hour at least. I’m not easy to get rid of, you know.”

“I’ve noticed,” James retorted and turned to Q to check his temperature again. Oh, it is going to be one hell of a surprise once he wakes up and finds out there aren’t only two people in the flat, but three, the third being an incredibly chatty tell-tale who questions to M directly.

She of course started asking questions as ‘Were you at the doctor’s?’ ‘Did he eat his meds?’ ‘How much of that soup you got in him?’ or ‘When were you planning on telling me about your relationship?’

It was going to be a challenging couple of days yet, James was sure of that. 

He placed his empty bowl on the nightstand next to the other, put an arm round sleeping Q, kissed him on his hair and gave all his attention to the detective story based on one of Agatha Christie’s novel. Moneypenny shrugged off her coat and sat in an armchair nearby. 

In seven minutes, Q woke up and his sight fell on the female figure in the armchair. He was startled. At the same time, James sneezed loudly. Both he and Eve broke into a laugh; Q at least cracked a thin, reserved smile. It was all ridiculous, right? A deadly spy and the Quartermaster of MI6 cuddled to each other in one bed, sick, and their boss’ secretary sitting right next to them.


End file.
